


The Language of Brothers

by Wishful86



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1323070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishful86/pseuds/Wishful86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of banter between the quartet on a pleasant afternoon in the garrison.<br/>Hope you enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Language of Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> After a lovely response to my first Musketeers fic (thank you), I got a tad carried away on a slow day at work and wrote this...
> 
> (One day I may write something that doesn't involve them being round a table with food)

 

 

It was a pleasant afternoon in the garrison. All the duties were done and the men were free to enjoy a hearty lunch. Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan were doing just that at their usual table.

“I love food,” Porthos exclaimed as he eagerly filled his plate with the various fruits and breads on offer.

“There’ll be nothing left for Aramis if you carry on at this rate,” d’Artagnan laughed, “Where is he anyway?”

“He left his hat behind,” Athos told him then suddenly he raised his voice, “Can’t be parted from it.”

“Hey, I like my hat,” Aramis grinned as he entered the garrison with said garment sat proudly on top of his head. He walked towards the table but when swinging his leg over the seat, the sword at his side swept a bowl full of apples onto the floor. A string of mild curses spilled from Aramis’ mouth as he bent down to pick them up. When he resurfaced, he couldn’t help but notice his friends staring at him.

“What was that?” Porthos asked mid-bite.

Aramis shrugged. “An unusual moment of clumsiness,” he replied as he sat down without issue this time.

“No,” d’Artagnan started, “not that. You weren’t...you weren’t speaking French.”

“You weren’t speaking Spanish either,” Athos stated, knowing that Aramis spoke at least one other language already. Usually when drunk.

Aramis scratched his neck subconsciously as he realised his own actions. After some hesitation he gave them an answer, “It was Italian.”

“You speak Italian?” Porthos raised his brow.

“A bit.”

“Ahh, you know all the curse words,” Porthos thought he had it.

His friend, however, was biting his lip, “And all the none curse words,” he admitted, “I speak it fluently.”

For whatever reason, the others could see that Aramis was not all too comfortable with them knowing this new fact. His shoulders had tensed.

“You’re full of surprises,” Athos levelled at him.

Aramis relaxed his shoulders slightly and smiled, “Aren’t I just, Monsieur ‘Count de la Fère’”?

“Touche,” Athos nodded with a knowing spark his eye.

Beside him, d’Artagnan failed in suppressing a snort of laughter.

“What’s up with you?” Porthos asked.

d’Artagnan looked back and forth between the men and the men in turn were looking at him with eyebrows raised.

“You’re a strange band of brothers,” he told them.

“Strange?” Porthos repeated.

“I prefer _unique_ ,” Aramis stated, completely at ease again.

“Also if we are strange,” Athos spoke carefully, “then that means...”

“What?” d’Artagnan didn’t follow.

Porthos grinned, “It means you’re strange too.”

“What do you make of that little brother?” Aramis clapped him on the shoulder.

d’Artagnan felt a surge of warmth inside- they considered him part of their band- but outwardly he smirked, “ I prefer _younger_ brother.”

Porthos laughed while Athos and Aramis shared amused looks. Then they all turned their attention towards d’Artagnan who had a sudden sense of dread.

“You know, I think he may have just implied that we’re old,” Aramis said tilting his head to the side.

“That’s what I heard,” Porthos agreed.

“Shall we?” Aramis gestured towards an unsuspecting d’Artagnan.

“Absolutely,” Porthos responded firmly.

Before d’Artagnan could react, he found himself swinging by his ankles between the two taller men. ”Athos, a little help. Please,” he groaned from his upside down position.

Athos allowed a rare chuckle, “Sorry, little brother, I’m with your strange brothers on this one.”

“Unfair,” d’Artagnan grumbled as he batted ineffectively at Aramis’ and Porthos’ boots.

“Gentlemen,” Treville’s voice cut through the laughter from above, “Drop him and meet me in my office. Now!”

Aramis and Porthos nodded, shared a glance and then together did exactly what the captain ordered. d’Artagnan landed on the floor with an ‘ooof’.

“Thanks!” he shouted after the men who were now halfway up the stairs. A hand was offered in front of his face.

“Come on, brother,” Athos said as he helped the Gascon up, “Let’s see what the rest of the day brings.”

...


End file.
